


Background Radiation

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [13]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re the Initiate who dreamed about fire in the sky and massive devastation.  I wanted you as my Padawan in the worst way.”</p><p> </p><p>Important things can happen in places you'd never think to look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Background Radiation

_It’s Dex who alerts him about the crop of refugees from Coruscant.  Not only is Obi-Wan next on the list for making rendezvous with potential Alliance crew, there’s someone special on board._

_A surviving Jedi._

_She’s a tall girl with a defiant stride, her lightsaber still prominently displayed on her hip.  She has the near-luminescent bright green eyes common in the Mirialan bloodlines.  Definitely old enough to be a Padawan, not quite seasoned enough to be a Knight, even during wartime._

_“Greetings, Old Man,” she says, sticking out an olive-skinned hand._

_Obi-Wan just smiles and shakes her hand.  As nicknames go, Old Man is a step up from Negotiator…but gods, he also_ feels _like it.  He’s so tired, all the fucking time.  He is only thirty-four Standard, but if this is what it feels like to be old, he’ll skip it, thanks._

_The Padawan pushes coral blue hair out of her eyes and smiles back.  “I’m Jeila Vin.  Glad to see you survived.”_

_“Likewise, Jeila,” he says.  “Dex sent you by way of Coruscant?”_

_She shakes her head.  “By way of the Temple, sir.  I was there when the 501 st hit.”_

_Sweet blessed gods.  “You’re very fortunate, then,” Obi-Wan manages to reply.  “You’ve been on Coruscant ever since?”_

_Jeila nods.  “At first, just because it was hard to get off-planet, and the younger survivors definitely had first priority.  But later…well, some of us were waiting to see if we were going to be attempting any sort of coup against the Emperor.”_

_Obi-Wan frowns at that revelation.  “I can’t decide if that makes you very brave, or very foolish.”_

_The Padawan shrugs.  “We didn’t really know how bad it was, not at first,” she says, and the defiant set of her shoulders slumps a little.  “And nobody ever came back for us.”_

_Obi-Wan can’t stand in the face of her grief and do nothing, not anymore.  There is too much misery of late.  He reaches out and carefully, cautiously pulls the girl into a hug._

_She accepts, to a point, resting her hands on his upper arms.  Jeila does not cry, but he can feel some of the harsh tension and teeth-vibrating anxiety leave her thin frame._

_The embrace makes him feel better, too—pushes back that constant, dragging exhaustion.  It’s a nice feeling, even if it cannot last._

_She steps back and scrubs at her face, even though her skin appears dry.  “What should I do, Master Obi-Wan?”_

_The title gives him a chill.  It’s been a year since he’s heard it last, and the memory has soured in light of everything that came after.  “Run.  Hide.”_

_Jeila scowls.  “Hide?  That’s_ it? _That’s ridiculous!  Don’t you know what’s going on—”_

_Obi-Wan doesn’t have to say a word; the expression on his face must be frightening enough.  Jeila stops shouting, but she’s still glaring at him._

_“I know exactly what’s going on in the galaxy, Jeila Vin.  Forgive me for basing my answer on a desire to see as many of us survive as possible.”_

_The glare dies.  “You can’t grant me a fate based on your own selfish desires.”_

_It’s enough to make his lips quirk in a smile.  “Your Master must have been an interesting being, Jeila Vin.”_

_She smirks a little.  “It’s true, and you know it.”_

_“All right, then, Jeila.”  Obi-Wan crosses his arms.  “You tell me what you want to do.”_

_Jeila’s smile fades.  “I understand that you want to keep me safe.  But I can’t just run off and hide, not from all of this.  I have to do something.  Give me a task, Master.  Let me make a difference.  Besides,” she adds.  “You’re not hiding, either.”_

_“That depends entirely on your point of view,” he murmurs, and then asks, “Where did you and your Master serve during the war, Padawan?”_

_“Spying on the Separatists,” Jeila explains with another shrug.  “Mirial defected a few years before Geonosis, and I’m a halfblood Mirialan.”_

_Now Obi-Wan remembers their team—Master Traniss and Padawan Vin, assigned to the Illisurevimurasi Sector to send reports on Confederate activity back to the Temple.  Vaniss died a year and a half into the conflict; Vin had remained alone behind enemy lines, completing her assigned duty._

_All Jedi working across the border had been wiped from the Archives, to protect their identities.  After the discovery of Kamino’s entry deletion, other data discrepancies were found, and it had seemed prudent not to take any chances._

_“Your name is not going to be on any of the warrant lists,” Obi-Wan says.  “If you want to make a difference, give me your lightsaber and join the Alliance.”_

_He can tell that Jeila is not fond of the idea.  He doesn’t really blame her.  Giving up his own lightsaber is unthinkable, but nothing will bring the Emperor’s agents to an Alliance cell faster than rumors of a lightsaber-swinging Jedi in their midst.  Tempting fate for one life is acceptable.  Risking others—risking their entire_ future— _is not._

_“There’s another option,” Jeila begins hopefully._

_“Oh?”_

_“Well, I could stay with you,” she says.  “I haven’t had a Master for almost two years now, and…”_

_Obi-Wan shakes his head before she can finish.  “No, Jeila.  That’s not…that’s not a good idea.”_

_“Why not?” she asks, and the defiance is starting to creep back in._

Because of Anakin.  Because of Padmé.  Because of how much this is my fault. _Obi-Wan thinks all of that, but he doesn’t say it.  Instead, there is another reason, just as true._

_“Have you heard the rumors of a new Sith Apprentice?”_

_Jeila shivers.  “Yeah.  They’re not just rumors?”_

_“No,” he says, “But we don’t know his name.  We do think the new apprentice wiped out a group of Jedi survivors on Kessel.  From what the nearest Alliance cell managed to uncover, the Jedi were using my name as bait to attract the Sith.”_

_Jeila pales.  “So you’re saying…”_

_“I’m saying there are easier ways of committing suicide than by hanging out with me,” Obi-Wan says with a faint smile._

A comm chime shattered the dream.  Obi-Wan woke up in the dark, fumbling around on the low table in front of him for the noisy device in question.  At least he’d finally remembered to deactivate the comm stuck in the wall.  Hearing that jarring sound from both sides might have made him levitate off of the couch.

“Kenobi,” he said, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the dark.  Anakin had slept through the comm; not an emergency, then, or Obi-Wan’s Padawan would already be standing in his bedroom doorway.

“Master Obi-Wan,” a rumbling, faintly reptilian voice replied.  “It’s Master Kuunhra.”

Obi-Wan stood too quickly, barking his shin on the table’s edge.  He had no reason to hear from the Trandoshan Master, unless…  “Jeila?”

“How did you know?” the creche Master asked.  “I did not think the two of you were so well-attuned to one another, yet.”

Obi-Wan felt an unwilling smile form on his face.  “The timing fits,” he said.  “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

He checked with Anakin before he left, still mindful of recent lessons learned.  Anakin grunted in annoyance and tried to hit Obi-Wan with his pillow in retaliation for being woken. 

“Just making sure,” Obi-Wan said, resisting the urge to laugh at his Padawan’s extreme disgruntlement.  “I’ll be back soon.”

“’Kay,” Anakin muttered, and went right back to sleep.

Kuunhra met him in the creche, the lights in the main rooms dimmed for the Initiates’ sleep cycle.  “You were serious about it only being a few moments.  You must move quickly at night,” the old Master observed.

“I fell asleep on my couch fully dressed,” Obi-Wan said.  It had become a habit in recent days—he was averaging more sleep out on the couch than he was trying to sleep in bed alone.  “What’s wrong?”

“Young Vin has been dreaming often, of late,” Kuunhra explained, as they walked in the direction of Jeila’s clan dorm.  “I suspected that she might begin prophetic dreaming soon.  Tonight was her first.”

“She’s three Standard, Master Kuunhra,” Obi-Wan said, appalled.  His own bouts of prescience were horrid.  No three-year-old needed to deal with that.

Kuunhra nodded.  “It is early, but not the earliest we have ever seen.  As her eventual Master, you should be here to guide her through her first dreams.”  The Trandoshan sighed, a long, sibilant hiss.  “I do so regret that you had not yet bonded with anyone when you began your own prophetic dreaming.  You were not much older than Jeila is now.  Such close mental reassurance would have been very good for you.”

Obi-Wan tried to recall dreams earlier than those that had hounded him during his Padawan years, and drew a blank.  “I don’t remember that.”

Kuunhra gave him a curious look.  “Strange,” he said.  “They were very remarkable in their strength.”

Up ahead, Obi-Wan could see one of the other creche Masters, who held a very unhappy toddler in her arms.  The moment Jeila saw Obi-Wan, she wriggled out of the woman’s embrace and bolted straight for him.

 _Obi Obi Obi Obi Obi_ , Jeila chanted, tears running down her face.  Obi-Wan caught her, lifting her up.  Jeila wrapped her tiny arms around his neck in a stranglehold, still repeating his name.

Obi-Wan shushed her, trying to soothe the shaking girl.  Holding the child who would one day be his Padawan made him feel more alert—a good thing, too, because Obi-Wan suspected that he was in for a long night.

It was almost dawn before Jeila fully calmed, blinking up at him with sleepy green eyes.  Kuunhra had shown Obi-Wan to a quiet nook in the creche, seating them both on a rocking chair before attending to his other charges. 

 _What did you dream of, tiny Padawan?_ he asked, playing with her deep blue curls.  Jeila was clutching two of his fingers in a death grip.

 _You were gone,_ Jeila replied, and sniffled again.  Obi-Wan was relieved when no new tears threatened.

 _I promise, I never left_ , he said, smiling when she scowled back. 

 _You did.  You_ did _go_ , Jeila insisted.  _It was scary.  You better not go._

He hated to ask the question, but Jedi Initiates were taught about the reality of death at a young age.  Their talents made it necessary.  _Was I dead?_

 _No,_ Jeila sent back, but she was frowning.  _You were just…gone.  Not-here._

Obi-Wan nodded.  He didn’t understand, but then, most prescient dreams were hard to quantify.  It was likely that Jeila did not yet have the vocabulary to explain what she’d seen.

He didn’t like the idea of being not-here, though.  Whatever that meant, it did not sound pleasant.

“Listen,” he said aloud, sensing that the creche’s inhabitants were already beginning to stir for the day.  “If you have another bad dream, you can call for me.”

Jeila’s eyes widened.  “Really?”

“Really.”

“Promise?  Any time at all?” Jeila insisted.

“Any time at all.  I promise,” Obi-Wan vowed, and smiled when it earned him another hug.  “Come on, youngling,” he said, standing up.  “Let’s get you in bed for a nap.”

“But it’s morning!” Jeila protested, squirming in his arms to point at the window.  The sky was already showing pink and gold.  “I want breakfast!”

“Breakfast _after_ a nap, tiny Padawan,” Obi-Wan said sternly.  “You’ve had a long night.”

Despite her protests, Jeila fell asleep quickly once she was tucked into bed.  Obi-Wan went home, pulled a bottle out of the cabinet, put it on the table, and then sat down and looked at it.  He was still staring when Anakin got up.

His Padawan joined him at the table.  “Are you seriously going to have booze for breakfast?”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan replied, noncommittal. 

“Okay, spill,” Anakin said, narrowing his eyes.

“Spill?”

“Talk,” Anakin clarified.  “I’m not allowed to be reckless; you’re not allowed to be reticent.  Therefore, you should start talking about what’s bugging you so bad that you think seventh hour is drinky time.”

It took Obi-Wan a minute to figure out how to begin.  Most of what he was dwelling on had been formless, subconscious drek until very recently.  “When I bonded with Jeila, I wondered after if I shouldn’t have.  Granted, I don’t know how I could have prevented it, but it didn’t seem fair to Master Traniss, depriving him of a Padawan like that.”

“It had to have happened for a reason,” Anakin pointed out.

Obi-Wan nodded.  “I’m aware of that.  Last night, I was dreaming about the first time I met her, after Order Sixty-Six.  If I had been paying more attention, I might have realized that she was meant to be my apprentice, even then.  Instead…instead, I sent her away.”

Anakin looked sympathetic, but he only said, “You’re not going to do that now, right?”

He shook his head.  “No.”

“Okay.”  Anakin stood up and snagged the bottle.  “I’m going to put this away.”

“Right,” Obi-Wan said.  He took another breath, let it out with a sigh, and went to take a shower.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Galactic HoloNet Messaging Board System

Republic Date 5201:01:18

Welcome New User:  A. Skywalker

 

Anakin frowned at the screen.  Considering the entry he was about to post, the screen name the system had granted him was either really funny, or _reall_ y annoying.

 

Sub-Header:  Locate the Lost (Public)

New Entry:  Surviving Skywalker Family Seeking Same

 

He entered what information his mother could remember of their clan in the message he composed.  Anakin felt another flash of shame; he had _never_ thought of conducting a search like this, even with all of the resources of Coruscant and the Jedi Temple available to him.  It was Mom who had sent him the message, asking if he could start a public inquiry.  The Skywalker family had been large, before the pirates came.  Shmi had always thought herself the only survivor, but slaves didn’t have the resources for things like this.  She wanted to be certain…and after thinking on it, so did he.

Anakin submitted the message, making sure he saw it posted to the public forums.  He hesitated, thought carefully about possible repercussions, and then composed a second message.

 

New Entry:  Surviving At’talr Kin Seeking Same

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan found Mace standing in the observation room, staring through the one-way transparisteel.  He halted his steps next to the other Master and looked; Siri was glowering at the projected image of Darth Zannah.  Zannah was glaring daggers right back.

“The sound is off?” Obi-Wan asked when he noticed that Siri’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear anything through the audio system.

Mace nodded.  “I can’t understand what the hell they’re saying, anyway.”

“Do you want to learn it?” Obi-Wan asked, curious.

“No,” Mace answered, shaking his head.  “I’m normally all for tactical advantages, but learning the Sith language?  I don’t think that’s the best idea, not for me.”

“It’s a wise man who knows his limitations,” Obi-Wan said.

“And it’s the crazy man who ignores them,” Mace countered.

Obi-Wan just smiled.  “We’ve just received word via databurst.  Qui-Gon and Rillian have been safely delivered to Tholatin.”

Mace looked curious.  “You didn’t need to come down here just to tell me that.  Unless there’s a body count we already need to be concerned with?”

“No, no body count,” Obi-Wan hurried to reassure Mace.  Honestly, he was a bit worried about that, himself.  “It concerns Jeila Vin—and myself, also.”

They both glanced back at the observation window when Siri stood up and pointed her finger at the tiny hologram’s face.  Zannah made as if to bite it, and looked to be laughing when Siri instinctively jerked back.  “Honestly, is that a good idea?” Mace wondered.

“I’m not worried about Siri at all,” Obi-Wan replied.  He wasn’t, especially not after she’d managed to teach herself large swaths of all three Sith languages without falling into any of the traps left embedded in the ancient documents.

“All right.  What’s going on?” Mace asked, turning away from the window at last when Siri stuck her tongue out at the holocron and left.  Obi-Wan had a feeling that Siri had been the winner of that argument, based on the scowl Zannah bore as the holographic emitter shut down.

“Master Kuunhra mentioned that I went through a similar cycle of prescient dreams when I was about Jeila’s age,” Obi-Wan began, crossing his arms.  “You’re listed as the attending Master for that.  I don’t remember this at all, and was wondering if you could tell me about it.”

“You don’t remember?” Mace looked surprised.  “I’m amazed you managed to forget.”

“That’s what Kuunhra seemed to be implying, as well,” Obi-Wan said.  He was honestly starting to get concerned about the number of holes that were cropping up in his memories.

Mace tilted his head in the direction of the door, inviting Obi-Wan to follow him from the observation room.  Outside, they both exchanged nods with the elderly guard, a disguised Shadow, who also happened to be doing excellent work repairing the indoor garden just opposite the holocron room.

“There was no warning before they began, unlike what the creche just experienced with Initiate Vin,” Mace said as they walked.  “You went to bed a standard Initiate, and woke up in the middle of the night from precognitive dreams so intense that you couldn’t even verbalize them, at first.  It was a cycle that would last for fourteen nights.”

Obi-Wan restrained a shudder.  “That’s the same length of time for the block’s nightmare cycle.”

Mace frowned.  “Perhaps that’s where the block got its time structure?  When you’re in the middle of a prescient cycle, they all tend to be fourteen days.”

Obi-Wan halted his steps.  “They are?” he asked, dismayed and feeling utterly foolish.  “I never noticed.”

Mace nodded.  Obi-Wan shook off his surprise and rejoined his companion.  “I was paying attention, especially after Taro Tre, but it’s also easy to extrapolate from your teaching records.”

“Why was it you who stayed with me in the creche, then?”

“At first, there were suspicions that you might be seeing shatterpoints.  Since I had been experiencing that phenomenon since the age of six, I was called down to the creche to see if I could help you,” Mace explained.  “It didn’t take me long to figure out that it was full-blown prescience—and frankly, I think that’s worse.  Seeing random moments that are points of possibility and change, I can handle.  The idea of seeing them all the time?”  Mace grimaced.  “No, thank you.”

“Well, at least it’s been a couple of years since the last bout of it,” Obi-Wan said, still very grateful that his prescience came and went at random.  The last cycle had been before Anakin’s current apprenticeship began.  The very worst had been during the Naboo fiasco—the _first_ Naboo fiasco.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Mace said, “You used to wake up and tell me that the sky was burning.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wince.  “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It was certainly different.  Most children in the creche have little moments of precognition: they see that they’re going to find objects in certain places, meet people at specific times, or will just wake up and know what the weather’s going to be.  No, not you,” Mace said, a fond smile on his face.  “You’re the Initiate who dreamed about fire in the sky and massive devastation.  I wanted you as my Padawan in the worst way.”

He hadn’t known that.  It was kind of nice, in retrospect, to find that he hadn’t been so unwanted after all.  “Yoda, I presume?”

“Meddling damn troll,” Mace agreed, still smiling.  “He was right, of course.  Echuu and I were more well-matched than you and I would have been.”

Fire in the sky, sky burning—Obi-Wan wondered if he had been seeing literal fire, or, perhaps, the great, blood-red veil that the Sith had constructed over the whole of Coruscant.  He had been the first Jedi to finally see it, just before the creche bombing.  Now only tatters of that veil remained, as a year’s work had gone into seeing it removed or destroyed. 

“There is another thing you should know, something I didn’t want to call a full Council meeting for,” Obi-Wan said.  “Yoda is aware, but he has not been getting much rest in recent days, and asked me to spread the word.”

It didn’t take long for Mace to discern what he meant.  “It’s not just Initiate Vin dreaming, is it?” he asked, his expression sobering.

“No,” Obi-Wan answered, and glanced around to see if they were being observed.  Yoda wanted this kept quiet, and for the moment, Obi-Wan agreed with the ancient Master.  “She’s the only one suffering from full-blown prescience, but there are other children in the creche having precognitive dreams.”

“Tell me,” Mace said.

“Fire.  Bright, intense light.  Some of the younglings are dreaming of what they call ‘bad men.’  A few of the children have described Chiss, like Initiate Nuru Kungurama.”

“Damn,” Mace said.  “I do not like the sound of that.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan didn’t miss Qui-Gon (and he did, terribly) but there was only so much fantasizing, masturbating, or moping one could do before physical and spiritual chafing set in.  Between the Council, plotting Shadow-classes, training with his current Padawan, the conference, and random political shenanigans (Tikkes) Obi-Wan’s days were full.

His nights had been somewhat lonely and insomnia-wracked before Jeila’s dreaming cycle started.  Now he was almost as busy after dark as he was during the day, comforting a toddler who had been struck by a non-stop cycle of prescient dreaming. 

After the third night in a row, Obi-Wan suggested to Master Kuunhra that Jeila should just spend the night in his and Anakin’s company, at least until the dreams faded.  The creche Masters conferred and agreed.

Now, Obi-Wan completed his day and picked up a toddler, went home, and tried to make things as normal as possible for her.  A cot in the bedroom, a nighttime routine that was just like the one she would have had in the crèche—and Anakin, telling her bedtime stories, sneaking her treats, and generally doing his best to spoil his eventual successor rotten.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin glanced up, jolted out of his project when his terminal beeped an incoming message.  There had been several over the past few days, but most of them had been the typical junk-feed the boards generated.  His only non-bot response was so far-fetched that he had shown it to Obi-Wan, who’d laughed at the author’s claim of being Anakin’s long-lost twin brother.

Anakin was sensible enough to admit that it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility—he had no father, for Force’s sake—but he wasn’t fool enough to claim a twin that was thirty years his senior, either.

 

New Message

Republic Date 5201:01:23

RE:  Surviving Skywalker Family Seeking Same:

 

My name is Tyree Martilles.  My wife’s name was Thalli Skywalker. 

 

Anakin sucked in a startled breath, and kept reading.

 

She died last year, I am sorry to inform you, as I believe she would have been a close cousin.  Thalli was a slave in the Outer Rim before being released from captivity by a wealthy philanthropist, whose identity I am sworn never to reveal.  Forgive me for that, but it was a condition of my wife’s release, and though she is dead, I still feel the need to honor that vow.

Until your message, we had no idea anyone else survived.  Thalli always talked about her clan, a trading group who worked the Mid Rim and Outer Rim border before their shipping convoy was decimated in a pirate raid.  She was just old enough to remember the name of her own home vessel, the _Corian_.  I do not know if that information will help you.  It never gained us any further news, but your ident says you are based on Coruscant, and that might avail you more resources than we could draw on.

Thalli died of Rhen’s Disease, and we had no children, so I have no family to give you save the marriage that links us.  I would be grateful to hear from you, but I will understand if a cordial, formal correspondence is all it amounts to.

-Tyree Martilles @ Ord Wylan

 

Anakin stared at the message, re-read it, and then forwarded a copy to his mother on Kaazcint.  He would leave it up to her to contact Martilles.  Maybe Thalli would be a familiar name, maybe not, but the knowledge didn’t do Anakin much good—he’d never known any of them.

“Rhen’s Disease,” he muttered, feeling the tickle of familiarity, and then remembered where he knew of it from.  Rhen’s Disease was the illness that had killed Obi-Wan’s mother.

He would have thought no more of it, but then someone responded to his At’talr message.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Things are proceeding slowly.  Lama Su seems much more interested in getting our Jedi companions to investigate than in allowing our diplomatic venture to be heard,” Bail Organa was saying, his voice only slightly distorted by static.  His holographic image wavered once and then steadied, strengthened by a signal correction.

It was Obi-Wan’s first time back in the Council chamber since Confirmation.  This meeting had been called for more pleasant reasons—the highlight being the first report from the Kamino delegation.

Obi-Wan looked over at Adi, who was shaking her head at Bail’s words.  It was Ki-Adi who asked, “And what has been our team’s response?”

Bail smiled.  “Master Tamarik has been quite insistent that the point of both ventures will be satisfied, or neither of them will.  She is negotiating a trade-off with the Prime Minister now, in Senator Rotsino and Padawan Reeft’s company.  The Kaminoans will show our Jedi their records to begin the investigation into the missing cloning tanks, and then our team gets to introduce the first order of business, then back to the investigation, and so on.”

“It sounds like this diplomatic venture is going to take weeks,” Even Piell said, a deep frown on his scarred face.

“Most of the interesting ones do,” Bail replied.  “The Kaminoans are playing hard to get, and frankly, I don’t blame them.  After our first tour of the facilities, I can see why they would be reluctant to give up full-body cloning.  Their factories are _immense_.”

“But they would be easy to convert, and the Kaminoans will have business in biological replacement far more often than someone will come along to buy an army,” Obi-Wan pointed out.  _At least, I would hope so._

Bail nodded.  “That is a thought we have had, also.  The return credits are going to look disappointing, at first, but Padawan Reeft and my aide, Brax, are working on a presentation that will show them exactly how little time it will take for that money to add up.”

“Do you think greed will be the most effective means of convincing them?” Depa asked.

“No,” Bail said, and frowned.  “No, I think it’s going to take more than that.  They are used to money, but from what we have observed, the Kaminoans are intensely proud of their own scientific accomplishments.  I think this will ultimately be about challenging their intelligence, not lining their pockets.”

After the meeting was over, Obi-Wan had no sooner passed through the massive doorway when his comm chimed an alert.  He glanced at the tiny screen and stepped into a turbolift, riding it down the central tower so he could get to the other lifts.

Tahl welcomed him with a smile.  “That was fast,” she said, struggling to get up off of the couch.

“We were already done for the afternoon.  Do you need to get up, or are you just trying to be polite?” Obi-Wan asked, sympathy warring with amusement.  He’d always heard that Noorians were immense while pregnant, and Tahl was living up to the stereotype in the worst way.

Tahl gave up and collapsed back down into her seat, sighing.  “Trying to be polite.  I feel like I’m being eaten by this couch, lately.  Can you believe I’ve got three more months of this nonsense?”

Obi-Wan looked at her swollen belly.  “Are they sure the conception date is correct?  Or that there’s not more than one Giett spawn in there?”

Tahl grinned.  “Only the one Giett spawn, and we’re fairly certain about the time the baby was conceived.  I didn’t call you down here to stare at my freakish midsection, however.”

“Your midsection is not freakish,” Obi-Wan responded immediately.  “However, if he doesn’t come out of there large enough to walk unassisted on the first day, I will be very surprised.”

She snickered.  “Honestly, so will I.  So!” she said, and turned her head to give him one of her pinpoint accurate stares.  “How is it that you’ve not gone through the replacement surgery for those missing organs of yours, now that you’ve re-established yourself on Coruscant?”

Obi-Wan made a face.  “That was almost as subtle as a brick to the head, Tahl.”

“Subtle is for people who aren’t trapped on couches with an overly large fetus dancing on their bladders,” Tahl replied.  “Be a gallant young Master and fetch me tea, would you?”

“Wouldn’t that increase the fetus dancing?” Obi-Wan asked, but went to do as requested.

“Decaffeinated tea,” Tahl said, and there was no mistaking the mournful tone in her voice. 

“When the baby is born and properly weaned, I’ll introduce you to the new green tea that Anakin found.  More caffeine content than caff,” Obi-Wan promised, finding the decaffeinated blend without difficulty.  It smelled like proper tea, at least.

“That is very kind of you,” Tahl said, as he set her copper kettle on to boil.  He liked his near-instant boiling water; Tahl was a traditionalist.  “But you still haven’t answered me.”

“Because I just spent a year of my life on physical recuperation,” Obi-Wan answered, his amusement fading.  “I’m not in a hurry to go right back to that kind of misery.”

She was quiet while he finished making tea.  He decided to commiserate and prepared himself a cup of the decaffeinated blend, too.

“You weren’t one hundred percent recovered for the wedding, were you?” Tahl asked, after he’d handed her the tea.

Obi-Wan sat down across from her.  “No,” he admitted.  “My recovery was at more like eighty percent.  I could spar, as you and Micah witnessed, but not for long bouts.  Abella put her foot down and kept me on Kaazcint until the only thing keeping me from being one hundred percent recovered was the replacement surgery.”

“And you got to spend time with your new baby sister,” Tahl pointed out, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“My parents appreciated our extended presence, especially when we discovered that Kania, like her brother Anakin, is _very_ adept at moving objects,” Obi-Wan said, smiling. 

“Anakin: _of the ether_ ,” Tahl murmured, obviously quoting recent research.  “Then Kania means…?”

 _“Sister of the ether_ ,” Obi-Wan told her.  “Shmi thought it was appropriate.”

“When her brother is the focus of a prophecy or two, then yes, I would suppose so.”  Tahl sipped her tea and then cradled the cup to her chest, just above the rise of her stomach.  “Do you know why I never underwent replacement surgery for my optic nerve damage?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “No, I don’t.  I always assumed that it would be too difficult to accomplish.”

“Partly,” Tahl confirmed.  “It was possible to perform the surgery, but the success rate for nerve implantation was only fifty percent at the time.  I am also one of those rare individuals whose allergy to anesthetics does not show up on a standard screening.”

He knew that his sympathy was obvious in his voice when he spoke.  “You must have found out the hard way.”

She smiled.  “I was in a coma for almost ten days.  My Master was frantic, and no one ever wants a frantic Wookiee Jedi in a Healers’ Ward.  I have been reluctant to undergo any sort of surgery since that time, and that did influence my decision not to reverse the damage.”

“You speak like something’s changed,” Obi-Wan said.

“Of course it has,” Tahl replied, looking surprised.  “Bacta, Obi-Wan.  I heard from my primary Healer the other day.  Successful optical nerve implantation rate is at eighty-five percent.”

Obi-Wan put his tea down on the table.  “What are you thinking about, Tahl?”

“I’m thinking that I have never allowed my blindness stop me from being who and what I am,” Tahl said in a quiet voice.  “I have never minded not being able to see my loved ones, because I have memories of what they look like, and the Lifebond I have with Micah allows me to see through his eyes, if I like.” 

She sighed and glanced down at her belly.  “I want to see my son, though.  I want to be able to look at my baby with my own eyes.”

Her words jolted Obi-Wan with their ring of familiarity.  “So, after the baby is born, then?” he asked.

“Maybe, but the surgery can be performed without risking my pregnancy.  Recovery is a single day in a bacta tank, and then I’d be right back here on this couch,” Tahl explained, and then she lifted her head, almost managing to look him in the eye.  “I could use some company.”

“This feels like blackmail,” he responded, trying not to shift and reveal his current level of discomfort. 

“No, it’s moral support,” Tahl corrected him.  “As much as I want to see my child, I do not want to willingly walk into that Ward and let them put me under.”

Obi-Wan released a sigh of his own.  “All right.  I’ll do it if you will.  How long until the Healers will be ready for you?”

There was a distinct pause before she answered him.  “Two days.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened.  “So soon?”

“Well, Ra’suul sort of went overboard on preparations,” Tahl admitted.  “I think he knew that the high success rate would sway me even before he broached the subject.”

“Ah.”   Obi-Wan and Tahl spent a few more minutes talking about the possibility.  Then he said his goodbyes, and went to find Abella in the Ward.

“Oh, I have everything ready now,” Bella said, a very toothy grin on her face.  “I wanted to make sure I was prepared, just in case you went out and turned your insides into burnt mush again.”

“Charming.”  Obi-Wan restrained a shudder, because yes, charred mush was probably a very good description for his innards after being lightsaber-pierced.  “This has all been a setup, hasn’t it?”

“Maybe,” the Chitanook Healer conceded, and danced away from him when he growled at her.  “Two days, Master Kenobi.  Then you’ll be free of my furry mercies!”

“Until the next time, at least,” Obi-Wan retorted, then sighed and left.  Brilliant; Abella and Tahl had joined forces to conspire against him.  His recovery time was _not_ going to be awful, at least—twenty-six hours in a tank post-surgery, followed by five days in his quarters with the post-surgical meds for company.

He thought about Tahl wanting to see her son, and decided that tasting bacta in the back of his throat for a week would be well worth it.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin worried his lip, staring out at the prolific array of greenery that made up the Wilderness Garden.  He was seated in lotus, but not meditating, not yet.  He wanted to think, first, and then let the Force prod at him and give him some idea of how to proceed.

He had six messages now.  Two were from the spouses of Skywalkers, and both of those newfound Skywalkers were dead, which was frustrating.  From what Anakin had read, it looked like the survivors from the pirate raid had all been young kids, just like his mother had been.

Four responses were from the ragged remains of the At’talr, whose shipping convoy had disappeared about a month before Aika Lars died.  The At’talr were trying to reconnect with clan mates, people who were left scattered out across the stars from the loss of the ships that had comprised their home and livelihood.

Out of six messages, five mentioned family who were dead or dying of Rhen’s Disease.  That stuck out at him, gave him a sickening feeling.  The odds of seeing so many instances of it at once…

Still, nobody knew much about Rhen’s.  It could just be a startling coincidence.

“Right,” Anakin snorted at himself in complete disbelief.  “Sure it is.”

He took a breath, let it out, and allowed himself to drop into meditation, searching for guidance.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Micah asked for the fourth time.  Tahl sighed, put her hands over her face, and remembered that she had promised not to strangle her mate.  Micah had always been a bit protective, but now that there was a baby involved, those tendencies had soared to new, very annoying heights.

“Could be worse,” Obi-Wan said from her right side.  “They could both be here, acting as clucking mother hens.”

Tahl smiled against her palms.  Yes, if Qui-Gon were present, that would indeed be the case.

“I am not a hen,” Micah muttered under his breath.

“Yes, you are,” Obi-Wan countered. 

“Cluck, cluck, cluck,” Anakin added from the foot of the beds.

She could sense the approach of Healers, something that was confirmed when she heard the first one speak.  “If you’re going to fret this much, I can sedate you,” Healer Ra’suul warned Micah.  “My patient has enough anxieties about this procedure without you adding to them.”

“It’s all right, Ra’suul,” Tahl said.  “Wanting to swat Micah is actually a good distraction from my own concerns.”

“Everything will be fine,” Ra’suul promised.  “This will be easy compared to your initial recovery, Tahl.”

“How about you, Obi-Wan?” Abella asked.  “Are you ready?”

“I’m too old to whine about how I really don’t want to do this, aren’t I?”

Anakin snickered.  “Far too old.  C’mon, Master, this will be worth it.  You’ll be able to drink on epic levels again.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Obi-Wan mused.

“Padawan Skywalker, encouraging my patient to pickle himself is not the sort of help I was looking for,” Abella said with a sigh, which made Tahl grin.

“Time to go in,” Ra’suul told Tahl, as she heard the steps of others approaching.

Micah’s fingertips brushed over Tahl’s hands and face.  She reached up and clasped his hand in both of hers.  “I’ll see you when you wake up tomorrow,” he said.

“Perhaps even literally,” Ra’suul added.

“You’re up, too,” Abella told Obi-Wan.  “Tandem surgeries, so that neither one of you can freak and try to get out of this.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Obi-Wan said in a resigned voice as Tahl was being wheeled away.

 _Good luck,_ she sent to him.

 _Good health,_ Obi-Wan replied, which was probably the better encouragement, given her medical history.

 _See you soon,_ Tahl said, and dared to hope that it would actually be the case.

 

*          *          *          *

 

He had the strongest, fiercest desire to be awake.  It was an insistent prodding, one that drove him to climb up through layers and layers of darkness. 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to blurry light, rolled over, and promptly threw up onto the floor.

“Hey!” Anakin blurted in dismay.  “Not on my boots!”

“Sorry,” he rasped, his head partially resting on the metal side rail of the medical bed.  Oh, gods, he felt awful.  His stomach was cramping, trying to decide if it was going to be sick again.

“You’re not even supposed to be awake,” Anakin said in a much quieter, gentler voice, getting a towel and cleaning Obi-Wan’s face with it. 

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan murmured, his cheek still pressed against the rail as he enjoyed the feel of cool metal against his skin.

“Hey, Bella!” Anakin called.  “Obi-Wan broke your drugs.”

“Again?” the Healer asked, coming over to join them.  “You’re not supposed to wake up until after the bacta tank, Obi.”

_Oh, fuck, that hasn’t happened yet?_

Abella put a hand to her head, as if pained.  “No, it hasn’t happened yet.  What’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan forced himself to roll back over to lie on his back, looking up at the lights in the isolated recovery room of the Ward.  He could smell bacta tanks—he must have been almost ready for tank-prep, the Healers waiting only for most of the surgical anesthetics to wear off.

The lights all had glittery and brilliant rainbow halos surrounding them.  Son of a bitch. 

“There’s got to be phenol in my system, Bella,” he said, resisting the urge to weep in frustration.  His recovery time had just _doubled._

“There shouldn’t be,” Bella replied, grabbing a medical datapad that hung at the foot of the bed.  “I covered the med list before surgery.”  She was scrolling through the information with a frown of concentration on her face.  “Everything here is something you’ve had before—no, wait.” 

“What’s phenol?” Anakin asked, as Bella’s expression alternated between thunderous and baffled.

“Phenol….phenol…”  Obi-Wan grimaced.  He couldn’t actually finish saying the word.  If that wasn’t bad enough, the rainbows were spinning, adding to his nausea.

“Phenolpolyeptirinestac,” Bella said, and scowled.  “There’s a new med on the list, one of the anesthetic companions designed to make sure the drug is distributed evenly through your system for best effectiveness.  It’s not listed with a phenol warning, but it’s the only possible culprit.  Light halos, nausea, and hallucinations?” Bella questioned.

The question was well-timed; the glittery rainbows were starting to become shapes.  “Please, just sedate me again and drop me in the tank,” Obi-Wan begged.

“Oh!” Anakin exclaimed.  “Phenolpolyeptirinestac!  I remember that, now.”

Obi-Wan glanced over just in time to see Anakin’s Padawan braid lengthen, climb, and try to curl itself around Anakin’s ear.  He shut his eyes quickly, because _No._   “Bella…”

“Just a moment, Obi,” she reassured him, and he heard her rummage around in the collection of phials shelved a few paces away.  Times like this made him regret that he was so very, very difficult to subdue with the Force.

“I’ll bring Jeila to visit you while you’re in the tank, so she is reassured that the Healers have not killed her precious Obi,” Anakin reassured him, a teasing grin audible in his voice.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan whispered.  He felt a new coolness enter his arm from the intravenous line, and gladly passed the hell out.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Tahl awoke slowly, and was grateful to realize there was a heavy press of a bandage against her eyes, reminding her not to try to open them just yet.  Her head ached a bit, but she otherwise felt fine.

Mister Kicky announced his displeasure with the world by trying to swim laps.

 _Easy, you,_ she sent to the baby, cautiously lifting her left hand to rest it on her swollen belly.  _Everything’s fine._ Then she added, _Mommy’s here_ , trying not to feel silly. 

The baby calmed, but did not still.  Tahl was really not at her best with babies, and here she was, bearing one anyway.

Thank goodness for Micah.  He had enough inanity for multiple children.

“I heard that,” he said, approaching from somewhere distant.  Tahl couldn’t pick out wall definition, which meant she was still in the large and open bacta tank area.  That would also explain the odor in her nose, and the odd taste in the back of her throat.

“How am I?” she asked, glad that her voice only had a faint trace of a dehydrated rasp.

“Doing gloriously,” Micah reassured her.  He sounded very pleased.  “No trouble with the allergy-friendly anesthetics, the baby behaved himself, and you are the proud bearer of brand new cloned optic nerves.”

Tahl could suddenly smell water.  She opened her mouth; Micah guided a straw between her lips, letting her drink until she felt less parched.  Blessed man.

“How’s Obi-Wan?” she thought to ask.

“Staying in the tank an extra day,” Micah answered, a new hint of concern in his voice.  “Someone botched his meds.  He’s fine, but Healer Abella is on the warpath, and no one is safe.  And, here’s Ra’suul, to explain all of the icky stuff,” Micah added, just as Tahl’s groggy senses discerned the approach of another person.

“Did it work?” she blurted, before Ra’suul could even begin to speak.

“More than likely, yes,” the Healer replied in an amused tone.  “The surgery was quick and efficient.  We dunked you in bacta to help the nerves set and heal.  Bacta is wonderful for effecting quick cellular regeneration.  You won’t even feel any rawness from where we slipped in behind your—”

“Okay,” Tahl interrupted, because she didn’t really need to think about _how_ they’d done it, just that it was done, and she was not dead or incapacitated.  “When will we know?”

“The moment you’re ready to remove the cloth from your eyes,” Ra’suul said, sounding a bit surprised.  “We only left it there so that you would be able to choose your first sight.”

Her heart pounded; her stomach fluttered with the nervousness of a thousand tiny butterflies.  Mister Kicky sensed her anxiety and jabbed her in the bladder for good measure.

“When I open my eyes, what should I see?” Tahl asked, as Micah took her hand in a firm, comforting grip.

“If we were successful, you will perceive light and blurry shapes.  It will take a few days before the nerves get used to their function.  After a tenday, you’ll be given a full eye exam.  If your eyes have lost focusing strength over the last nine years, we will make corrections.”

Tahl turned her head in Micah’s direction.  “Take it off, then.  If I’m going to see things, it had better start with you.”

Micah didn’t reply, but he squeezed her hand again.  She could feel his sudden upswell of emotion, intense love mixed with anxiety and hope, dread that the surgery failed, elation that maybe it didn’t…

She knew it had worked before she even opened her eyes.  When the cloth came off, she could see light through her eyelids.  A thrill raced through her limbs, giddiness following it. 

Tahl opened her eyes.  Ra’suul had been wrong.  Her vision was much better than blurry shapes.  She could discern Micah’s face easily, the color of his skin, the familiar hazel gleam of his eyes.  Details were lacking, it was true, but… _but_!  She could see!

Tahl grinned, lifted her free hand, and unerringly placed it on top of his bare scalp.  “Aerodynamic,” she said.

Micah sputtered a laugh, kissing her hand before bending over to kiss her lips.  The Lifebond resonated with their combined joy.  Even the baby responded, making the Force echo with non-verbal pleasure.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin sighed and rubbed his eyes, exhausted.  There were no easy search algorithms for the information he sought: too many trading clans, each of them with several family names aside from their clan names, with naming variants based on gender and heir-presumptiveness—which were a pain in the backside because they varied from clan to clan.  If he was reading the Skywalker files right, his own name was supposed to have an honorific or two attached, but he couldn’t figure out the right translations.

Also, he had to cover a lot of ground and time.  The Skywalker clan had been wiped out thirty-eight years ago.  The At’talr convoy had dropped out of existence ten years ago.  Then there were the Kay’dal, the Yellowstars, the Brin Wir, the Q’in-dah-lal, the Sunrunners…

Anakin scowled, gave up, and looked at R2-D2.  “Hey Artoo, wake up.”

R2-D2 lit up and rolled close to Anakin’s bedside, chirping curiosity about being awoken from his recharging cycle.

“Yeah, sorry, pal, but I need your help,” Anakin said, giving the droid a gentle pat on his dome.  “I’ve got a whole lot of names and name combinations, and at this point I think I’m too fried to write the code myself.  Can you do a search of the Temple database for me?”

R2-D2 trilled an affirmative, happy to be of use.

“Great!”  Anakin smiled.  “Okay, here’s what I’m looking for.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Garen strolled home, whistling and generally making a spectacle of himself.  Not like it was his fault that utter decorum had become the watchword of Jedi in public halls on their home turf.  He thought it was silly and ignored it, just like he ignored robes and donned worn leather and fiber-knit shirts whenever he could get away with it.  (In other words:  All the time.)  His own Master was fond of saying that clothing didn’t make the Jedi, but it sure as hell made them look the part.

He’d never expected to be a full Knight; now he was one, but still acted like a glorified courier pilot.  He did suspect, however, that Chancellor Valorum was rather pleased that he could slip messages into Garen’s care and not have to worry about paying extra for a detailed escort.

Garen got home to find Tahl asleep on the couch and Micah looking like a speeder had run him down.  “What the hell, Master?” he asked with a grin, stripping off his coat and hanging it with the row of robes at the entrance.

Micah regarded him with a half-aware squint.  “Why do you still live here?”

“Because you haven’t kicked me out yet, and I’ve been too busy to pack,” Garen replied, walking into the kitchen and rummaging around for food.  “Why do you look wrecked?”

“Baby troubles.”

That stopped him cold.  Garen shut the cold-store, turned around, and gave his Master a second, scrutinizing look.  “Not fatal, right?” he said, though his heart didn’t stop pounding until Micah shook his head.

“No, not fatal.  It’s like the baby took your other Master’s surgery adventure as an invitation to shenanigans,” Micah said.

“Gee, I wonder who he got that from?” Garen returned, just to see his Master smile.  “But nothing warranting a night in the Ward?”

“Pregnancy is different from injury, Padawan.  Tahl needs to be in a space that is not stressing, and the Ward is _not_ a stress-free environment.  But…”  Micah gave Garen a frank look.  “You’re going to have to pack up soon, whether you like it or not.  The Healers are talking about ending the pregnancy early, either by induced labor or surgery.”

“Well, shit,” Garen blurted, and then cast a guilty look towards the couch.  Tahl hadn’t budged, and was still sleeping with her face pressed into a pillow, one that also happened to be supported by her stomach.  “I thought she was getting large, but I thought that was, y’know, normal.”

Micah snorted.  “Apparently, her physiology and mine do not get along in terms of baby-making.  The infamous Giett spawn is big, even for a Noorian child.  They’re estimating he’ll have to come out of there two months early, or there might be complications for them both.”

“Huh.  Good thing I already bought your crib, then,” Garen said, and then caught a spoon when Micah threw it at him with the Force.  “Well, that’s some thank you.”

Micah grinned.  “You are an absolutely brilliant man, and I thank you, but you’ve been teasing me about breeding non-stop for six months now.  It’s become instinct to throw things at you.”

“And I’d be embarrassed if I failed to catch it.  Can’t have damage to my pride, or to your honor, Master,” Garen said, putting the spoon on the counter. 

“That would never happen,” Micah replied, sounding both serious and hesitant, all at once.  It was one of his Master’s few tells, and it only cropped up when he was exhausted.  “You know…I’ve never told her.”

Garen just shrugged.  “So, save it for when she’s had the baby.  If she gets up and beats the hell out of you, we’ll all know she’s going to be just fine.”

Micah laughed.  “You know, if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to be settling well with Reeft, I would be concerned about the example Tahl and I have provided you for healthy relationships.”

“Your relationship with Tahl _is_ why I’m dating someone sane,” Garen returned, and waved his Master on to bed when Micah laughed again and then cracked a yawn.

He piled food onto a tray without much regard for type, shut down the kitchen, and started turning off the lights in the living room.  Then he swore and paused with one hand on the lamp, debating about whether to turn it off or not.  Pre-surgery Tahl wouldn’t notice, but post-surgery Tahl might verbally flay him for treating her differently.

“Leave it on,” Tahl said, without lifting her head or opening her eyes.  “It’s nice to wake up to light.”

“Gotcha,” Garen said.

“By the way, I already know,” she added, just before Garen palmed open the door to his bedroom.

Garen smiled.  Somehow, he was not surprised.  “Well, just act shocked and indignant when he tells you.  It’s more fun that way.”

“Always.  Good night, Muln.”

“Good night, Master.”

Once inside his room, Garen scarfed his food, using the act of eating to bide his time until a certain planet’s rotation passed waking time.  Then he thumbed in a comm designation he’d memorized ages ago.

There was something to be said for people who didn’t destroy their comm units on a regular basis.

“Good morning, Garen,” Reeft answered, not long after the hyperspace transitions finished relaying the signal.  “Are you behaving yourself?”

Garen grinned, settling back in his bed.  “Of course I am.  Our Bantling is now a Councilor’s secretary, and as she lives in the room next to mine, I’d rather not tempt her vengeful wrath.”

“So, no comm-sex, is what you’re saying,” Reeft replied with a warm chuckle.

“That’s because you don’t know how to be quiet about it.”

“I refuse to admit to the veracity of that statement,” Reeft said.  “And I don’t have time, even if I wished for you to make the attempt.”

Garen let up on the teasing.  Reeft had gotten over most of his public shyness—had to, when you were on the diplomatic circuit, but he was still a reserved man.  Instead, Reeft saved his salaciousness for the bedroom, and Garen Muln was _not_ complaining about that fact.  “How are things going on Kamino, then?”

“About as well as you’d expect, really.  I think we would be making more progress by utilizing a hammer, but we _are_ making progress.  We just still have that one last, very large hurdle.”

“Huh,” Garen said noncommittally.  He didn’t know the specifics of what was going on, but if Reeft said it was a big hurdle, then it was so.  His boyfriend was not given to exaggerating things.  “Well, whatever the problem is, I know you’ll solve it.”

“Garen, I am not a great, dramatic problem-solver,” Reeft protested.  “I am a small-team, small-problem negotiator.  This is a large team, _large-problem_ situation.”

“Oh, screw that great and glorious nonsense,” Garen snorted.  “Not everyone can be Master Jinn, and you don’t like getting shot at, anyway.  You are damned good at problem-solving, because you see the little shit.”

“This…is a pep-talk, yes?” Reeft asked.  Garen could practically hear the smile in the Dressallian’s voice.

“Yeah, you stuffed Jawa, it’s a pep talk.  You are smart, and kind, and generous—”

“Generous?  Generosity.”

Garen raised an eyebrow when Reeft fell silent.  “Hello?  You still there?  Lover of my loins, keeper of my still-beating heart?”

“You, my love, are a filthy pilot genius,” Reeft said.

“Aw, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Garen replied with a grin.

“I am not dignifying that with a response, and please tell Obi-Wan that I blame him for everything.”

“Will do.  You got an idea there, Padawan Reeft?” Garen asked, curious.

“I do.  It may turn out to be a dismal failure, but there is no doubt you will hear about it if we succeed.  I need to go; I’ll have to discuss it during the morning briefing with Senator Organa and Master Orykan.”

“Awesome,” said Garen.  “My boyfriend is gonna be famous.”

Reeft chuckled again.  “I love you, too.”

The next morning, Garen showed up, as scheduled, at the Jinn/Kenobi quarters.  “You decent, yet?” he asked, striding in after the door accepted his bio-print.

“I’m ready, actually,” Obi-Wan replied, coming out of his bedroom, still adjusting one sleeve.  His hair was wet at the ends, but the beard he’d neglected to shave off was, at least, well-trimmed.  His eyes were clear, too.  Bonus. 

“You look better than you did five days ago,” Garen said.

Obi-Wan frowned.  “I was still hallucinating five days ago.”

“Like I said.  Also, my boyfriend says he blames you for everything.”

That made his friend smile.  “Bad pun?”

“It was the perfect wording and opportunity.  It was a thing of great beauty,” Garen replied with a grin.  “Also, Reeft has an idea on how their group could proceed with the Kamino delegations, and if it works, we may all know by dinnertime.”

“Two diplomatic conquests in one day?  That would be nice,” Obi-Wan said, grabbing Master Daarc’s lightsaber from where it rested on the table in the living room.  “Let’s go.  I want to be early, just in case anything new pops up before we proceed with today’s petition.”

They got to the turbolifts without incident.  When they were alone in the lift, after a group of Padawans hopped off on their way to a sparring session, Garen spoke up.  “So, you seem fine.  Why am I obeying Bella’s orders and escorting you around the Temple?”

“I’m not fine,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “I’m still seeing halos around light sources, among other things.  I am just very good at faking it.”

“You going to fake your way through an entire Council session, then?” Garen asked with a grin.  It was nothing new, that idea, especially when this was a meeting for the sake of appearances, not further negotiating or political maneuvering.  Micah had faked his way through several sessions fresh out of the field.  Putting on a good face was part of the damn job.

“Faking it in public is all right, sometimes even mandatory.  Faking it in your own home is stupid,” Obi-Wan said as they emerged from the lift.  “Took me long enough to learn that lesson.”

“Allergies are a bitch, man,” Garen said in agreement.  “Dyptherias, spice, and phenol—it’s like an unholy trinity of stupid things to be allergic to.”

“Duology actually,” Obi-Wan countered.  “Phenolpolyeptirinestac is lab-synthesized spice.”

“Wait, really?  Our meds are full of _spice?_ ”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “Well, again, it’s lab-created, so it’s a pure form…but, yes.  It’s synthesized ryll, Garen.”

“Huh.  I never realized.”

“We’re not as uncommon as the point zero two one six anomalies, like Tahl,” Obi-Wan said, his expression lighting up when he noticed Anakin approaching at a steady trot from down the hall.  “But us fools with spice allergies sit at point one one nine for recorded instances.  Hello, Padawan.”

“Hi, Master.  Good morning, Garen,” Anakin said, huffing out a breath.  “Sorry I’m late.  Wait.  Am I late?”

“Good catch,” Garen said, approving.  “Never apologize until you find out if there’s a reason to.”

“Don’t listen to him; he’s a horrible diplomat,” Obi-Wan said in a dry voice, palming open the turbolift for the central tower.  “And you’re not late.”

“Awesome,” Anakin said, perking up. 

“Take over for me, kiddo?” Garen asked.

“Duh,” Anakin replied, reaching up to bump fists with Garen.  “Word is that there’s a new Sienar Systems long-range starfighter in Bay Sixteen.  Maybe that’s Sieinar’s way of admitting duplicity for building the Sith Infiltrator without actually admitting anything at all.”

Garen grinned.  His entire morning was going to be spent crawling around in the delivered ship’s innards, searching for the clues that might let them gain further access into Darth Maul’s ship.  The code slicers had already admitted defeat; now it was up to the grease monkeys.  “I know nothing.  Enjoy the politics!”

 

*          *          *          *

 

The entire meeting was going well, Anakin thought.  Tholatin had a solid petition this time, if an unusual one.  Master Qui-Gon looked fine—Anakin was pretty sure that he and Obi-Wan were having a conversation via hand signals whenever the Tholatins were talking.

_Anything interesting?_

_Chiss politics,_ Obi-Wan replied.  _Qui-Gon suspects that Mitth'raw'nuruodo has stuck his neck out quite a ways to convince the Ascendency to accept this petition._

Anakin glanced at the Chiss in question, acting as diplomatic representative for the Chiss Ascendency.  He had the itchy, disturbing feeling that he knew the guy.

The new Prelate, Tha Nak, finished her verbal portion of the proceedings, confirming the dissolution of the caste system.  “I have reassured many Tholatins that these arrangements, unwelcome as they may be, will ensure that our petition is confirmed,” she said.  “Will that be so?”

Chancellor Valorum cleared his throat.   “No one is asking for restitution?” 

Master Qui-Gon shared a quick glance with the Chiss, of all people.  That was weird.  Anakin couldn’t wait to hear the story behind _that_. 

“I do not believe anyone has felt brave enough to do so,” Qui-Gon said.  “Make no mistake:  Tholatin has a long way to go, but this is, at least, a step in the right direction.”

“The Ascendency, however, has one further, minor condition,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said, inclining his head at the Chancellor.  “If I may?”

 _He reads people pretty well,_ Anakin sent.  Valorum hated political bootlicking, but he _did_ like good manners. 

_Mitth’raw’nuruodo has been studying everyone who is in view of the holographic feed.  I daresay he knows quite a bit about all of us, now._

Huh.  Put that way, it made Anakin almost certain that he knew the Chiss—or used to know him, anyway. 

“The ship that Master Jinn’s Padawan borrowed is a _ferrin tareon-_ class Chiss vessel.  It may remain hers, if she likes; I do believe she earned it.  Consider it a gift made in good faith by the Ascendency,” the Chiss said.

“Then what is the catch?” Valorum asked.

Anakin was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the flash of discomfort he saw on Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s face.  “The catch, as you call it, is this:  The navigational computer’s memory must be completely erased when the ship arrives on Coruscant.  There must be no investigations of its contents, or attempts to download the information stored in the system.  This is a mandate directly from the leaders of the Ascendency, as we do not take kindly to our paths and ways being known.” 

No, Anakin definitely wasn’t imagining it.  The Chiss was uncomfortable, and his next words explained why.  “It is also a bit of a…personal request.  There are severe censures in place for those of us who fail to keep Chiss secrets out of the hands of outsiders.”

“I don’t know if that will be possible,” Mas Ameeda began to bluster, but Anakin’s Master cut him off.

“I’ll see to it personally, Commander,” Obi-Wan said, drawing the Chiss’s direct attention.

“Now, wait a moment, Knight Kenobi,” the Vice Chancellor protested.  “This is a decision that should be discussed—”

Obi-Wan gave the Vice Chancellor a level stare, and raised one eyebrow.  “One does not condemn one’s political allies to execution, especially when they have just proved instrumental in finalizing a petition for a planet that has been a pain in our backsides for over twenty years,” he said. 

Anakin could have applauded at the dryly delivered rebuke.  Mas Ameeda had to be feeling about six centimeters tall, from the way he’d visibly deflated.  _You don’t really think they would execute the guy, do you?_ he asked.

 _No,_ Obi-Wan answered, sounding pleased.  _But I’m not telling Mas Ameeda that._

“It would also not do for someone to use this information to go gallivanting about in Chiss space, causing diplomatic incidents,” Master Adi said with a faint smile.  “The information will be deleted, Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

The Chiss inclined his head.  “The Ascendency is grateful for your understanding, as am I.”

Anakin managed not to visibly react when his comm vibrated, much as he wanted to squirm in place.  He hadn’t expected the mute function to do _that._   He slid back out of range of the holo transmitter and checked the ident on the comm.

 _Shit._   He glanced at his Master.  Obi-Wan didn’t look at him, but Anakin knew he had the man’s full attention.

_Is that message more important than this?_

Anakin hesitated for a moment.  Petition acceptance, or clues about a possible genocide?  _Yes._  

Obi-Wan waved his fingers in the direction of the Council chamber doors.  Anakin didn’t need to be told twice.  Once the doors had resealed behind him, he borrowed the Council secretary’s terminal to view the full text of what he’d been sent.

 

New Message

Republic Date 5201:02:04

RE:  Surviving At’talr Kin Seeking Same

 

Dear A. Skywalker,

 

There are rumors that the Tano’bi family patriarch has been seen in Mid Rim territory.  He has been considered dead for years, so until I see him with my own eyes, I consider such words to be suspect.

We cannot help but hope that the rumors are a sign that we might return to our old ways.  The Trade Federation has usurped our trading routes and custom long enough.  Monopolies like theirs are bad for business—as, I imagine, you learned for yourself during the Naboo blockade.

Tell your Master that his cousins will welcome him on Lenthalis at any time.  The heir-son of Aika Jai Tano’bi is remembered by us.

 

-Jaril Tenni’lo @ Lenthalis

 

Anakin chewed on his lip until he tasted copper, and then made himself stop.  He didn’t like seeing mention of the Trade Federation, not at all.  It made all of his recent discoveries veer in a very unpleasant direction. 

He was back home, doing research on the routes that the Trade Federation claimed as theirs, when Obi-Wan returned.  Anakin popped out of his bedroom to find Obi-Wan sitting on the couch, looking tired but not unwell.  “Hey.  Everything close out properly?”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “Tholatin is now a recognized independent member of the Republic, and its status in the Ascendency is preserved.”  He smiled.  “It’s not every day you get to sign off on a petition agreement that involves a galactic governing body you have to continue to pretend to have never heard of.”

“Awesome.  I’m sure Nuru will like hearing that he’s got an entire people that he can’t talk about,” Anakin said.  Kids liked secrets, and well—that was a _huge_ one.

“Guraman,” Obi-Wan said.  “His name is actually Kung’urama’nuruodo, with a core name of Guraman.”

“Nuruodo…”  Anakin frowned.  “Wait, you mean like—”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “It seems our Chiss Initiate is a cousin to Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Neat,” Anakin said, and then felt the blood drain from his face as memory clicked.  “Fuck, Master.  That was Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

“Never heard of him,” Obi-Wan said, and then looked at Anakin.  “Someone important?”

“Little bit,” Anakin said, and swallowed.  “Thrawn is the only non-human that Sidious gave an admiralty to.”

“That good, huh?” Obi-Wan asked, his eyes lighting up.  “Well, that should be interesting.  Qui-Gon has apparently made friends.”

Anakin blinked.  He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Master Qui-Gon brought home _Grand Admiral Thrawn_ as one of his infamous strays. 

“How was your comm call?”

“Uh…informative,” Anakin said, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

Obi-Wan gave him a searching look.  “Anything I should know about?”

“Yeah,” Anakin replied, and steadied himself.  “But not yet.  I want to make sure I have everything—there’re some gaps I need to fill in, first.”

“All right, then,” Obi-Wan said, with a slow nod.  “Something big?”

Anakin blew out a long breath, realizing anew that he felt like he was completely out of his depth.  “Way big.”

“Then we’ll discuss it when you’re ready.  I trust you,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin went back to his bedroom, confidence bolstered.  They were better, this time.  They _were._

It seemed like he had barely closed his eyes to sleep that night when his comm trilled.  Anakin groaned, reached for it, and for almost thirty more seconds of incessant noise, he could not quite remember how to turn the damned thing on. 

“What,” he said, trying to force his eyes to stay open.  He had to have gone to sleep; the light shining into his window from the Wilderness Garden had changed.

[Skywalker!  Help!]

That woke him up.  “Rillian?  What’s wrong?” he asked, slinging himself out of bed and rummaging around for the nearest pair of trousers. 

[I don’t know how to land this thing!] she replied, still sounding panicked.  [I dropped out of hyperspace fine, and the comm systems weren’t bad, but I have _no idea_ how to land this stupid Chiss crate!]

Anakin approved of her adjective choice.  “Well, let’s get you landing the crate, then.  Do you have clearance for the Temple?”

[Yes, but only for public docking.  I don’t know the codes.]

Anakin frowned, trying to put on his clothes without dropping the comm.  “You need to land in the lower bays, so the Healers’ Ward is closer.  What did Master Licia say?  She knows the codes.” 

The silence stretched out a bit too long.  “Rill?”

[I didn’t dare try to wake her up,] the Wookiee rumbled softly. 

Shit.  Anakin let his senses spread out and down, discovering his Master’s half-conscious thoughts somewhere in the vicinity of the creche.  Jeila again, he guessed.  Poor kiddo. 

_Master?_

_Hmm?  What is—fuck, Rillian’s inbound,_ Obi-Wan said, waking up a bit faster than Anakin had managed.  They were both putting in too many late nights.

 _Yeah._ The Chiss hadn’t been lying about their ship’s hyperspace travel time.  Damn, but he wanted a crack at that navicomp.  _Can you get her authorized to land in the lower bay closest to the Healers’ Ward?  I’m handling flight procedures._

_On it.  Meet me down there?_

Anakin nodded without realizing it.  _Yes,_ he said, and turned his attention back to the comm.  “Okay, Rillian.  Listening?”  She barked an affirmative.  “Okay, tell me about your controls.”

He listened to his sister-Padawan rattle off a description, grabbing his robe as he exited their quarters.  “Sounds like a Hyperion clone.”

[That’s what Master Licia said, too.]

“Gotcha.”  Anakin walked her through the upper atmospheric flight as he trotted through the Temple corridors, snagging the best lift.  The car dropped down so fast that his stomach tried to climb up into his throat in protest.  “Make sure your running lights are on.  No sense scaring the pants off of the late-night flyers.”

[They’re just going to have to go pantsless,] Rillian grumbled back.  [I don’t know how to turn them on.]

“Should be in the lower quadrant on your right,” Anakin said.

[No, that just makes the viewscreen pick up infrared.]  Rillian wuffed in annoyance.

“So, not an exact Hyperion clone, then,” Anakin muttered, stepping into the landing bay.  Obi-Wan was already there, with a toddler perched pick-a-back on his shoulders.

Obi-Wan nodded at him, waiting with three Healers, two of them beings that Anakin didn’t recognize.  Ras’uul, the older Healer who had coaxed Master Tahl into eye surgery, was perched on the floating stretcher, a terse expression on his face.

“You have a growth,” Anakin said, meaning Jeila.  The little girl was peering around with too-wide, overtired eyes.

“Thank goodness it’s not a malignant one,” Obi-Wan replied.  Jeila giggled.

[Now what, Skywalker?] Rillian asked from his comm.

“I can see you,” Anakin said, picking up on faint movement in the dark beyond the bay.  One of the techs he’d made friends with when his mother was still working in the bays stepped forward, handing Anakin a data screen.  “Thanks.”  Hiral nodded absently in response, his eyes also on the large shape flying towards them.  “Rill, you’re going to see your board light up near the comm panel.”  Theoretically, anyway.  “Tell me when you see it.”

[Got it.  That’s where it should be, at least.]

“Is there a blue indicator?”

[Green, two golds, and a red.]

Out of the corner of his eye, Anakin saw his Master mouth “gold.”  The choice felt right, and well…frankly, it was probably the least likely of the three color choices to result in an explosion.  “Rillian, hit the two gold indicators, and…actually, yeah, follow it up with the green.  No touching the red one.”

[Done.]

“And…awesome,” Anakin said, grinning.  “I’ve got full control.  Hands off the yoke, Rill.”

[Gladly.]  The Wookiee gave a relieved howl.

Loud footfalls caught his attention; he glanced up just long enough to see Master Depa and her girlfriend running to meet them, then stared back down at the tablet.  Rillian’s ship was close enough for final approach, though he could hear Hiral arguing with traffic control in the background about the unlit craft.  Obi-Wan could be all councilor-diplomat with the other Masters.

“Licia?”

“Incoming, Master Linena,” Obi-Wan replied in a soft voice.  “She’s going to be fine.”

Master Depa added, “She will be, Li.”

Master Linena didn’t seem convinced.  “But she’s not fine yet.”

Anakin bit his lip and slowed the Hyperion clone, hitting repulsors in such a way that he was probably going to get yelled at later for being too reckless with the flight controls near a hangar entrance.  Master Linena gasped; Obi-Wan gave Anakin a sharp look.

“Padawan…”

“What?  It’s fine,” Anakin defended himself, guiding the ship in through the doors.  Regardless of other people’s pickiness, Anakin had Rillian’s stolen craft landing safely on the hangar bay floor within moments.

Anakin gave the data screen back to Hiral while everyone else made a loud fuss about getting into the ship.  “Thanks, Hiral.”

“Not a problem.  Good landing job for short notice, Ani,” the tech replied.

Anakin shrugged.  “Any landing that doesn’t involve crashing is pretty good in my book.”

Hiral grinned.  “We still toss about the idea of billing you for that shuttle.”

“Not my fault; sue Barriak,” Anakin retorted, and went to go find Rillian as an occupied stretcher, Healers, and female Jedi Masters rushed past.

Rillian and Obi-Wan were sitting at the top of the boarding ramp.  Jeila was trying to turn Rillian into a climbing post.  Rillian was tolerating it, but she looked tired.  “Hey, Rill.”

[Hey, Skywalker,] Rillian said, giving him a wan smile.  [Nice flying.]

“Same to you.  Those sublights were sensitive, though,” Anakin said, dropping down to sit next to Rillian.  Jeila started climbing on him, too.  He was really starting to wonder what mysterious species Jeila’s mother had mated with to produce a green-skinned Kowakian Monkey Lizard.

[How’s my Master?] Rillian asked.

“He’s fine, Rill,” Obi-Wan said, putting his arm across her shoulders and drawing her in for a hug.  “Tholatin’s petition was approved yesterday afternoon.  Qui-Gon will be coming home as soon as the next Temple drop-ship gets to him.”

Rillian woofed in contentment and snuggled against Obi-Wan’s side; Jeila crawled into Anakin’s lap and passed out a moment later.  “Well, I guess we’re carrying them both,” Anakin said, when he realized that Rillian had fallen asleep, too.

“Looks that way,” Obi-Wan agreed, smiling.

They took both Padawans to bed, and for a moment, hovering over Jeila’s sleeping form, Anakin felt an intense moment of sadness.  He didn’t regret anything about Snips, except for how he’d lost her, but she’d also come to him almost grown, already.  The reassurance Ahsoka had needed from Anakin had little to do with night-time comforts, and a lot more to do with how many people they’d seen die that day.

“You’ll get your own turn,” Obi-Wan said, resting his hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

Anakin nodded.  Once upon a time, he’d been so concerned with being the best—the best Jedi, the best general, best pilot.  Best asshole, really.  After all that had happened, what he wanted most, now, was to earn his Knighthood and look after a youngling like Jeila.

He knew that Obi-Wan was aware of his thoughts, but all his Master said, gently, was, “Go back to bed, Ani.”

He went, shoved his face into his pillow, and refused to think about anything except sleep.

The next morning, Rillian was still resting, sleeping off a long, nerve-wracking hyperspace flight.  Anakin prepared his offering and made his way down to the Healers’ Ward alone.

“I kinda have a favor to ask you,” he said, peering into Jale Terza’s office with his best innocent expression plastered on his face. 

Terza glanced up from her desk, saw the mug of tea he was carrying, and smiled.  “Come in.  I always accept bribery.”

“I know.”  Anakin grinned and handed over the tea.  He’d learned well from his Master, and caffeinated Healers were happy Healers.

“Have a seat, Padawan,” Terza invited.  “It’s a bit early for our monthly chat.”

Anakin nodded.  “Yeah.  I’m here about something else.”  He hesitated and then plowed on.  “I have a list of names, people who came from the trading clans that used to work the Mid Rim routes.  I know it’s normally against Healer-Patient confidentiality, but I need to know something, and it’s really important.”

Terza had a faint frown on her face.  “Go on.”

Right.  Anakin took a breath.  “If I give you the names, can you look up their records and tell me how many of them are listed as being infertile?  I don’t need to know who—I don’t even want to know who can have kids and who can’t.  I just need the number.”

The Healer rubbed at her temple with her fingertips.  “You know that I’m not supposed to.”

He nodded again.  “I could ask Obi-Wan to get Councilor authorization, and I think he would okay it.  But I don’t want to tell him until I have everything I need, and the number’s a part of it.”

Terza stared at him for a minute.  “Nothing more than the number.  No file access.”

“No,” he confirmed.  “I don’t need it.”

“Very well,” Terza said, and Anakin sighed in relief before handing her a data chip.  She plugged it into her terminal, called up his file, and began scrolling through the list.  “That’s a lot of names, Anakin.”

“I’m trying to be thorough.”  He figured that one hundred and fifty years should cover enough time.  He hoped it did, anyway.  A century and a half of damage was reversible, maybe, but three centuries?  Five?

“That you are.”  Terza removed the chip; he gestured for her to keep it.  R2-D2 had the list, and there was another copy in his quarters.

“The information you’re asking for will be sent to you by this afternoon, coded for your terminal only.”  She paused, and worry bloomed across her features.  “You’ve found a problem?

“A bit of one, yeah,” Anakin said, still feeling that sick, sour churn in his gut.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan checked on Rillian the next morning, and had a pillow thrown at him for his troubles.  “You’re learning bad habits from Anakin,” he told the still-sleeping Wookiee, who would probably be horrified if she knew she’d thrown anything at either of her Masters. 

He took Jeila back to the crèche.  She was used to the routine now, and no longer complained about her Obi abandoning her.  Instead, she waved and then dived almost head-first into a toddler-pile tickle war. 

Kuunhra noticed the look on his face.  “Escape now, or they’ll be swarming all over you,” the old Master suggested.

Obi-Wan went, stopping off in the shielded room to check on Siri.  She had both holocrons activated for a short time, conversing with both, and then left the room with a scowl on her face when the dual Zannah projections worked with each other to thwart Siri’s progress.

The fake shut down when the door closed behind Siri; the real Sith holocron remained active.   “I know that you watch me,” Darth Zannah said, without looking in his direction.  “What is it that you want, I wonder?”

“Nothing,” Obi-Wan replied immediately, and then realized that wasn’t quite true.  “Not unless you’re skilled at hunting hibernating Netis, anyway.”

The speakers were not engaged, but Zannah heard him anyway.  “No one can find a hibernating Neti.  Not even if they are the only living thing in the area.  They are background noise, part of the flow of the Force.”

“It was the Neti who taught both Jedi and Sith how to hide within the Force,” Obi-Wan said.  He wasn’t sure where that knowledge suddenly came from, but it was true, regardless.

Zannah’s holographic projection rotated.  She was looking directly at him, even though the panel she faced should have appeared to be nothing more than a wall.  “You are one of us.”

“No, sorry,” Obi-Wan said.  “I’m not.”

“You are,” Zannah insisted, a faint frown on her face.  “No matter how much you deny it.”  She hesitated.  “Not all of us are like Sidious, Jedi.”

“Didn’t you swear to help Darth Bane create a line of Sith that was meant to culminate in the destruction of the Jedi?” Obi-Wan asked.  He kept his tone bland—it would be too easy for that question to be disparaging.

“Of course.  I hated the Jedi.  They kidnapped me from my home, gave me no training, and made me fight in a war that I knew nothing about,” Zannah said in a matter-of-fact voice.  “I watched as my Master created the very prophecy that was meant to ensnare you.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and could actually see the event in question:

_“Do you really think this will work?” Zannah asked, watching the careful dip and flourish of the ink pen as her Master wrote._

_“Of course,” Bane answered her, his eyes glimmering in the dim light.  “The Jedi are in love with the idea of their own history, even as they steadily discard it in favor of modern teachings.  An ancient prophecy will be a great temptation, and Jedi Master Abhin Sal-Tur’s name is revered for his past works.  Excitement will cloud their judgment; the Jedi will not look too deeply into the prophecy’s origins.”_

_“It just seems…foolish,” Zannah murmured, watching as Darth Bane waved a hand over the final lines, to help the ink dry.  He had even mimicked Sal-Tur’s Gaelanori style.  “I would not so easily trust in prophecy, no matter the names and events associated with it.”_

_Bane smiled, pleased.  “And that, my dear one, is why you will be the greatest of my students.”_

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, Darth Zannah was still staring at him.  “It was only years later, when Bane was long dead and I myself approaching the end, did I realize something,” she said.

“What was that?”

“Those who I hated, those who I blamed for the events on Ruusan?”  Zannah looked bitter.  “They had all died before I had even knelt at my Master’s feet for the first time.”

“Then why remain a Sith?” Obi-Wan asked, curious.

“There is more to being a Sith than killing Jedi,” Zannah said with a smirk, and then disappeared as the holographic emitter shut down.

“Well, that wasn’t unsettling at all,” Obi-Wan muttered, and left the room.  He greeted a different disguised gardener—the first Shadow’s spouse, he thought, and went to find a bench in the restored garden. 

When he sat down, a breeze ruffled his hair, a welcome caress after being indoors.  The secure holocron room was high up in the tower, which meant that this particular garden was open to the elements.  When another breeze ruffled his hair, Obi-Wan looked up.

The sky was burning.

Obi-Wan sucked in a startled breath and was suddenly somewhere else.

He and Jeila Vin were standing on one of the Temple towers—the roof of the Tower was gone, the support columns in jagged ruins.  They were both being buffeted by the high-altitude winds.  Jeila reached out and took Obi-Wan’s hand, and he turned to look at her.

Either she gained her height quickly, or this was still many years distant; Jeila was almost his own height.  Her features were sharp and narrow, not blunt or rounded like a typical Miralian woman’s.  She had a lean figure and the whipcord muscles of a seasoned fighter, but otherwise she looked much the same.  Her Padawan braid was long enough to wrap around her neck and fly out behind her.

“We didn’t stop them,” Jeila said, her expression filling with sorrow.  She finally turned her head to meet his gaze.  Her eyes were dark, filled with the static crackle of muted anger.  “Look,” she told him, and they both looked up.

A bloom of red and orange was spreading across the gray sky. 

“The skies are burning,” he whispered. 

“The fire will consume everything, just like it did on Borleias,” Jeila said.  She yanked on his hand.  “You _can’t_ be here.”

Obi-Wan turned to her to protest, and halted, astounded by the tears pouring from his Padawan’s eyes.  “Jeila, what’s wrong?”

“Just promise me,” she begged.  “Don’t be here.  You _can’t_ be here.  You’re the only one that knows how to stop him!”

 _Stop who?_ he almost asked, but Obi-Wan already knew the answer to that question. 

What did it matter, anyway?  They were both going to die on a Temple rooftop.  “I promise,” Obi-Wan said, and then the air around them turned to fire.

Obi-Wan gasped and jerked back to the present with Siri’s hand on his shoulder.  “Obi-Wan?”  She gave him a gentle shake.  “You with me, old man?”

He drew in a slow, careful breath.  “Yes.”  Then he looked at her, and almost cringed back.

“Obi-Wan?”  Siri put her hands on her hips.  Obi-Wan stared at her, watching her age, watching her die young, watching her sicken, watching scars form and disappear—a child at her side, a Padawan, two Padawans, a man, a woman, Healer Su’um-Va, no one.

He glanced around:  the garden died, the garden thrived, the garden changed colors with seasons, the garden full of rubble, the garden missing entirely.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard and looked up.  The sky was clear and bright; red and dull, gray and empty, burning fire, falling snow mingled with ash, sunset orange, swarms of traffic, no traffic at all.

Obi-Wan looked at Siri, who was still being crowded out by all of the possibilities that awaited her.  “Fine,” he said, proud when his voice didn’t crack.  The inside of his mouth tasted like ash and bile. 

“Everything’s fine.”


End file.
